


At the Edge of Town

by Rayne11



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Outside pov of ship, POV First Person, Post - A Song of Ice and Fire, Post-Canon, Rare Pair, Sansan is only mentioned, Sort Of, Theyne, Underrated Pairing, book canon, first person plural, they deserve better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25718548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayne11/pseuds/Rayne11
Summary: The couple at the edge of town are a curiousity to the children of the town.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole
Comments: 21
Kudos: 48





	At the Edge of Town

The couple at the edge of town don't have children. Unless you count the bull of a man that lives with them. The one with a scar down his mouth. All his hair is white yet they look after him like he's a baby.

She takes him by the hand everywhere, and brings him home, since he often forgets. Sometimes we think, it's she who doesn't want to remember. 

They show face - her and her husband - at every wedding and town meeting, though they leave almost immediately. We've never seen them dance or sing, though sometimes, he'll pull her close and sway to the songs with no words. Only to the songs with no words. 

+

Ours is admittedly a small town, but proud. We trade with the merchants travelling south but for the most part we rarely get visitors. 

Sometimes, often once a year, the wolf queen's men come bearing their grey banners. Other times it's the salt queen's men with their spindly gold kraken. 

When we were younger still, the kraken would scare us.

Legend has it (or so Bahar Milks told us) that the kraken could swallow ships whole - canons, sails and all. Even the sailors. 

"But that was a long time ago," Bahar said. "Back when there were Gods and Kings." 

We'd have nightmares about its limbs coiling around our feet and dragging us down, down, down into the black sea and swallowing us whole. All us kids stopped swimming that spring we first heard of this, while all the elders scratched their heads. 

The couple at the edge of town disappear every time the queens' men come. Three fingers calls after Splitmouth who's often fishing in the streams. He isn't any good, we know. We've spied. Days spent with his legs in the stream upto his knees, a string tied to a stick with stale bread for bait, with not even a bluegill to show for it. We think he just likes the water. 

+

Our mothers scold us when we call him Three fingers. "He was a great warrior once," Tory's mama told him - and he us - once, when the cruel but not necessarily incorrect nickname was at the peak of its popularity. "The best archer in the North in his youth." 

And just like that, it was that much worse. With only three fingers left in one hand (he's got seven in total, we know. We've spied) he doesn't have much skill left.

If he was the best archer in the north at some point, you couldn't tell watching him shoot. He is too clumsy and takes too long to aim. But he catches the hare everytime. 

Kells is the best archer in town. Dark haired and handsome, he's taller than us all. And how we despised him for it. He gloats over us, grinning always. Always grinning.

He tried to gloat to Three fingers once but he hadn't gotten any response worth telling. 

"He just looked at me," we heard Kells tell Marie, "like I was some ghost he wasn't afraid of." 

+

"She's ugly. What does he see in her? She doesn't even have a _nose_ ," the women whisper. Their talk trails after her like a wedding veil gathering dust. But like a bride at her wedding, she is too happy to care. 

We know why the women care. Three fingers could be handsome, that's why. (At least as long as he keeps his mouth shut and no one can see his missing teeth.)

In two or three years, we reckon he'll be the talk of the town but for different reasons. When he'll be younger still. 

It's what got us interested in the couple in the first place.

When they first moved in after the second long night, he was white haired, pale and hunched. He limped when he walked and lisped when he talked.

He's mostly black haired now. Bronze and tall. 

It dawned on all of us at the same time one day as we watched him - strands of black hair first beginning to show - ride his horse down to the town elder's house: Three fingers aged backwards. 

It was then when we began following them around, ignoring our mothers' calls for supper and fathers' chiding about eavesdropping. 

It wasn't as though we had much to do anyway. It was a bitter winter, and night all day. 

We were too young to remember the sun. The thought chills us often. We don't talk about it, but we'll tell you now. Just this once. 

It took a long time after the long night for the sun to rise again. We played being knights and rescuing maidens in the dark. We helped with the harvest and made candles with our mothers. 

We had town meetings everyday those days. No matters of import were much discussed. It was simply that no one wanted to be alone. 

We remember the songs and the dancing and the lanterns. Most of all, the lanterns. They'd line streets leading upto the main square and one hung outside every door. 

All quarrels were forgotten. All slights ignored. And the greatest crime anyone dared commit was to refuse another a candle. 

+

We haven't been able to come up with a nickname for her yet. 'No nose' never stuck because - well because it didn't do her justice. Besides it's just the tip that's missing. 

Her with her cascading brown locks, and kind coffee eyes. Pink lips that occasionally deign to smile down at us. Lovely small hands that give us a toffee or two from the basket they hold or a pat on the head as she makes her way down the snow damp mud path. 

"Alyn and Vayna," she told Chimney breath Chip - whose father had worked for the Dragon Queen - when we had dared him to ask her their names. 

"And the old man's? Is he your father? Or Alyn's?" 

"Dagmer," she smiled. "He's Alyn's father. He lives with us." 

As some of the mystery dissipated, we felt our wariness leave too. The outlines of Alyn's remaining gloved fingers no longer scared us, neither did Dagmer's scar. 

"Is it true that he was the best archer in the North?" "Why do the Queens' men come asking after you each year?" "How did Dagmer get his scar?" "How did Alyn lose so many fingers?" "Does he really age backwards?" "Do you?" "Why don't you two have children?" 

All of us, all the time have a hundred questions at the tip of our tongues but we never seem to find enough courage to ask.

+

Brave. That's what all us are called, though we haven't done anything to warrant that. 

We're brave for just existing to some. And others who are harder to please, call us brave for smiling and laughing. 

It's not that hard most of the time, truth be told. 

When it's one of our namedays, we climb up the small hill on the edge of town upon which they live. 

Artfully disguising our blatant curiousity as good manners, we stand at their doorstep and knock. 

Dagmer opens. We are shocked, we hadn't known him to do anything except watch sunlight ripple on water. "Jeyne!" He calls, without looking inside. 

When she arrives, her eyes widen at us and narrow at him. We think he looks ashamed. "I forgot," he mumbles and shuffles to leave, but she holds his wrist and smiles softly. Quick to return the expression, he pulls the corners of his lips up but it isn't nearly as pretty a sight. 

Little Jimmy begins to cry and we send him home with his big sister. 

In a matter of minutes we find ourselves seated on a wooden bench behind their house while she brings us biscuits and goats milk. We share the two cups amongst ourselves since they only have three cups and Dagmer has claimed one for his own permanently. 

When Three fingers arrives, stepping through the bramble, he freezes at the sight of us. Managing a lopsided smile, we think too secretive to be good natured, he disappears in the back door, without a word. 

We shrug and go back to our food, making plans for the evening. (We will most likely end up doing what we always do - playing knights and maidens by the old lake, but the planning to do other things is just as much routine.) The milk is warm and sweetened with sugar. 

"More, please," we ask. Serra is the one who carries the cups to the kitchen, and Vayna sends Alyn out to the shed with a pail. 

"You kids up for some rabbit stew?" He asks when he returns. "Or mince pies? They'll take longer though." _Kidsss. Ssstew. Piesss._ The 's's roll and whiz like an arrow as they leave his mouth from the gaps between the fake silver teeth. 

For a moment we are too fascinated to respond. "Yes," Millie manages and the rest of us nod. 

He looks back into the house where Vayna is now leaning outside the window, and smiles. Again teasing. Again secretive. She shares it with him though so we aren't as suspicious of it this time around. 

"I'll go catch some more rabbits," he says after we hear the _thunk_ of the pail on the table. 

"Come soon." There's a smacking sound of a kiss. All of us let out a visceral groan, harmony fit for a singing troupe. 

Laughter chases down the small gravel path from the backdoor to the benches. 

He appears in the doorway, a light bow strung across his body and a quiver of roughly made arrows at his back. 

He's halfway to the start of the woods when she calls. "I love you," she says against his lips as she pulls him in for a kiss. 

We want to look away but we've never seen anyone kiss before. It lasts only a second, and now we're wondering why Kells and Rory and the rest make such big fuss about kissing.

Serra reasons there must be more to it than what we saw because his eyes lit up like stars after. 

They feast us on stew and bread and pies and biscuits and cakes. Dagmer joins us at the table - somewhere between our third helping of stew and first helping of pie. 

Vayna asks us questions. She seems to have as many as we do. Alyn doesn't talk much, but he listens. And is always the first to urge us to have some more. 

"How old are you?" "Have you played 'come into my castle'?" ("No? Well what games do you play then?") "Do you want more biscuits?" 

We answer all of hers and think it's only fair she answer some of ours.

"Is it true that you age backwards?" We ask, the words tripping over themselves in a rush to get out. The biggest mystery of our lives is at the cusp of being revealed.

It makes Alyn guffaw and Vayna laugh. "In a way," he winks. We aren't content. But decide not to press just yet.

Her smile falters at our second question - "is it true that Three fi- Alyn was the best archer in the North?" 

We immediately kick ourselves and decide to not ask any more. 

But for that one question, we do get an answer. It comes from Alyn, and he is smirking at Vayna when he says, "still am, you know?" 

We giggle. "Really? Can you beat Kells?" 

"Of course I can," he grins and we cannot look away. "I know all the chinks in _his_ armour. He doesn't know mine." 

Later when Vayna braids the girls' hair and Alyn tells us about making arrows and recalls stories of the time he saw real dragons - three of them! - we can't help but think how lucky their children would be. 

+

The couple at the edge of town are happier. They hold hands as they zig-zag through the crowd that has long since stopped parting for them. 

We visit them often now. Picking berries for her and learning from him. Getting our hair done by her before every fair, wedding and nameday and bringing goose feathers for him whenever we can. 

Our parents don't stop us now. "Take this too. And give it with a smile. We mustn't go empty handed." We tote our little baskets up the hill to the edge of town, filled with biscuits or salted meat.

Dagmer is in the backyard chopping firewood most of the time, smiling. He's made bigger benches for us as we got taller. He even added a table and a bird bath. We suspect it was Vayna who made him make it, but then we supposed it was Vayna who made him make everything. 

She's hanging up a birdfeeder next to the tall bath when we arrive. A restless robin hops on a nearby branch waiting for her to leave. 

We set our bounty on the table and announce the matter at hand. "The Queen's men are here. They're crossing the old pass right now. We thought we'd warn you before they get here." 

Her eyes melt as she looks us over. 

Alyn comes out the backdoor, wiping his hands on a rag. "What is it?" He asks.

"The Queen's men are here." 

"Yours or mine?" 

We don't understand. "The wolf queen," Serra says anyway. 

"She's the Dog queen now after she's married the Hound," the rest of us counter. 

"No, she's a Wolf," Vayna says, sounding like our mothers when we do something good. "Doesn't matter who she's married to, loves. She'll be who she always was." 

"That's true for you too, you know," Alyn says. His eyes burn with _something_ as he looks into hers. 

Her eyes grow sad and suddenly we're afraid. "None of us won't tell them anything about you if they ask," we assure them. "We'll keep your secret." 

To our surprise Alyn laughs but it's warm. "Well then you have our endless gratitude." 

+

Another year passes and like every year we stand at the gates of town wondering if the Queen's men will come. 

We don't want them to hurt Vayna and Alyn. Not now when they've just started swaying to the songs with words. 

The two fastest of us are sent out with the newest information (they've made it halfway down the old pass. And bear two sets of sigils this time, one white with grey and one black with gold.) It couldn't get any worse, we think. 

When we reach the hill, breathless and pink, we find Vayna, Alyn and Dagmer wearing their town meeting clothes heading down the gentle slope. 

"It's alright," Alyn calls. 

"The - Queens - both queens -" we wheeze out between gasps of air. 

"Yes my dears," Vayna plants a kiss on each of our heads. "We know. We'll greet them."

+

The couple no longer lives at the edge of town. 

After Vayna is made one of the Town council members, they move to a sturdier house in the town square. 

They still take us to the hills though, on warm spring mornings and calm starry nights. 

We huddle around the fire with quilts. We talk of our futures - of becoming apprentices and squires, of learning how to sculpt or juggle and they listen. 

When Serra, who couldn't read a word to save her life, talks of becoming a Maester, we think they'll laugh. But they don't. "I'll teach you how to read," Alyn says simply. 

They begin the next day.

+

The Queen's men come often now. A tall woman has begun joining them. She's very beautiful, we think, even in her plain grey clothes and long red hair in a simple braid. We daren't stare though, for her half faced guard is scary. 

They both smile at us - her, bright and cheery; him, dour and cautious - as we lead them across the old lake and it's meadow, through alleyways and gutters, over the garden bridge. 

We stand guard outside with the Queen's men lest they try to harm our friends. 

+

"She's my best friend," Vayna answers us after they leave. "And that man with her was her husband." 

"Why was she with the Queen's men?" 

"Safer to travel," Alyn chuckles, as if remembering an old joke. 

+

The day before the town's first jousting competition, we find ourselves at their doorstep again. 

Nerves have creeped in on us and suddenly we're afraid of letting everyone down. 

We are about to knock when we hear someone singing. It's a song none of us have ever heard before. Just by the tune we know, it's a song from a buried time. 

"From winter to summer and winter again," Vayna sings. "Till the walls…" her voice drops low as if she's trailed off. We strain to hear, stopping just short of pressing our ears against the door. 

"Go on, my love," Alyn says, his voice deep like the sea. 

She mumbles, but we cannot make out the words. 

"You are so beautiful," he marvels.

"And she never wanted to leave," Vayna's hesitant tones grace our ears. 

We sit on their steps, backs leaning against the door, and listen. Simply... listen. 

"Never wanted to leave." 

As the song goes on, we feel the anxiety slip away, the dust settling after a storm. Every breath turning to mist right before our eyes. 

"Never wanted to leave." 

Through the orange glow from the curtains, we can see their silhouettes spin. Slowly. Gently. In one large circle around their small solar. He stumbles a little, ever so often but she catches him. Somehow, we know, she always will.

"Never wanted to leave." 


End file.
